2001

I painted this portrait of my father during the 4 years that we cared for him after my mother passed. My daughter was 9 at the time, and I was a single parent.

His mind was a jumble, but my goal when I was with him was to find a memory that would bring a laugh or a nod. For that moment, his face lost its anguish, and he was a person, not defined by his ailments. We were a family.

Drawing and painting my father helped me to care for myself as I was caring for him. It helped me to work through the sorrows, and remember the joys.

Being his caregiver during this period was the hardest thing I have done in my life ---and I wouldn’t trade a day of it.